Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Last Time I was There

So the last time I was there
it smelled like rain and damp
the black and white tiled hallway
clogged with old cooking gas.
Once it was home
down the stairs to the haunted apartment
the found note once hidden in a back of a drawer
"i can't stand it any longer"
folded into a fortune sized slip of paper.
The low ceiling jungle
overgrown with dripping Victorian plumbing
filled with the wails of nearby sirens and claustrophobic dreams.
I was drowning below the line of the sky
my face covered with your rage.
Until one day my lungs so full of sadness
I could no longer breathe.
I broke the surface of your madness
and fled into the street.
Everything I had in my hands
was all I owned.
Washed up on the shore in the striking sun
learning to walk upright
I imagine my footprints scorching the cement.
leaving marks as I turned away.